Thirteen Reasons Why (Life is Worth Living)
by logolepsy
Summary: Skye Miller is on the brink. She can't find a way out and sees no reason to live. Will Clay be able to show her why her life is worth living? One shot (very long). Continued ending of the novel (sort of).


**A/N: This story was originally meant for a project for school. It's a bit rushed in some place and my editing isn't the best but I hope this will suffice. Also, note that in a section near the end I actually wrote out the list that is there and scanned it into the document but obviously it won't show up on here so I simply typed it out. I hope you like it!**

* * *

One day. One day until Skye Miller would kill herself.

It wasn't like she wanted it to end this way. But her once quelling desire to make something of herself, to live, had left. Her will had left her like everything else in her life. First, her sister. Then, her parents. Everyone left her in the end.

As she fetched her bag from her locker, Skye paid no attention to the surrounding, buzzing classrooms. She had already skipped the majority of her classes in the past week and even when she was there her interaction had been minimal. What was the point anymore? Her grades (never mind her nonexistent social life) had sunk like anchor to the bottom of the sea so any further effort would be in vain.

She flippantly shuts the door to her locker and clicks the grey lock into place. Skye turns to leave. With her head to the ground she almost bumps into a passerby. "I'm sorry," she whispers at a barely audible volume. Her feet shuffle to the side as she ducks past the boy. Her cheeks warm up, a natural reaction, but the blush doesn't last long. She doesn't care enough to feel more than mildly embarrassed anymore.

"All right, Clay! Someone's late for class, huh?" She hears a familiar, cheerful voice echo behind her and furtively spins her head at the mention of Clay. Steve, the guy she'd nearly bumped into, stood by Clay Jensen striking a conversation.

Her eyes perceptibly widen as she catches Clay's gaze. She's unusually well at reading people and sees the warmth she generally associates with Clay in his eyes but it's clouded over by some newfound emotions. In the few seconds that their stares connect she identifies sadness and —is that regret? — in his poignant, tender expression.

She saw the same melancholy in his features the day prior, on the bus. No mask could hide the depression set upon everyone in the school after Hannah Baker's suicide but with Clay the emotion seems to be amplified.

Skye didn't know what to feel. Skye and Hannah had never talked much but it appeared they had the same thing on their mind. Suicide. It didn't feel weird to think that, that was what she was going to do. She was as close to comfortable and accepting of the idea as she would ever be. It wasn't like she hadn't tried before. Her prior attempt had been foolhardy though. It was done when her emotions were at a climax and not well thought out. Skye had never been good at tying knots (her week long stint in Girls Scouts proved that).

She continues her friendless promenade down the hall before a voice ceases her steps. "Skye."

* * *

_1. Milk shakes_

The other customers in Rosie's pay the pair no mind as they settle into a booth in the corner of the diner. Skye never meets Clay's searching eyes as she inspects the menu. Truth be told, she isn't hungry but they're here so she may as well order something.

At first thought she doesn't know why she agreed to this but she's never been one to lie, especially not to herself. She knows she agreed to come because she needs somewhere to let it all out but it's not going to come easy. She's worn her silence as armour for a while and when that doesn't work a simple fib would always work (you'd think her father would be suspicious of all the "friends" she's always busy with considering he's never met them). After her sister died her parents stopped caring about that sort of thing.

"Are you going to order something?" Clay asks, snapping Skye from her reverie. A waitress, with her hair gathered in a messy bun, taps her pen impatiently against the menu collected from Clay. Skye scans the menu that she had been so absentmindedly looking at before. "Ummm..." Her remark ends on a silent note.

Clay props his elbows on the table and shifts his head to look across the table and inspects her menu. "Try the chocolate malt shake," he murmurs with the ghost of a smile as his own reverie flashes by. Skye frowns a bit at the observation but nods to the waitress. "Okay. Your milkshakes are coming right up," she exclaims with a plastered on persona and struts away leaving them in silence.

Clay and Skye sit at a standstill, neither knowing how to break the ice, as the saying goes. "So…why'd you invite me here?" Skye questions, "It obviously isn't a date and we haven't exactly talked much in the past." He is surprised by her bluntness but then again Skye has always been a bit of an enigma. He thinks for a second. He doesn't know how to phrase his concern without sounding creepy. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Everything that happened with Hannah has made me more…aware of people around me. You've become a lot more closed off in the past couple of years."

Her face is twisted into an expression of distaste and Clay might've thought it was genuine if not for the glum emotion in her eyes. She constructs her words carefully, "People change. That's what happens in high school."

Before Clay can reply the waitress glides over with their milkshakes in hand and asks them if there's anything else they would like. They shake their heads and are left to sip at their drinks. The words Clay spoke hang in the air like castle walls separating the two as Skye struggles to construct a believable excuse. She can't help but be relieved that Clay is inches from pulling the truth from her rope of lies but at the same time she's caught in the middle of a desperate game of tug of war. She's kept her secrets for too long and revealing them, at this point, is taboo. Her mind jumps to the next rational form of escape: a distraction. Maybe Clay will forget all about it if she changes the subject. "So these milkshakes are to die for, huh?" she proclaims.

Clay narrows his eyes, inadvertently telling her that this wasn't over yet, but plays along and replies, "Yeah turns out my mom used to come here. She told me the chocolate malt shakes are the best and there's no way I can disagree with that. I mean, have you tasted these? Heaven in a bite. Or drink, I guess."

Skye takes a moment to savour the thick, chocolate taste on her tongue. Yeah. Heaven seems to fit the description.

* * *

_2. Hugs_

The walls of the glasses are stained with the empty remains of chocolate malt shakes. Clay speaks up, "About earlier...I don't know if you're changing for the better." Her face contorts into a scowl and he quickly continues, "I meant that I've noticed you're really closed off. You're fading away." His voice cracks on the last syllable but his statement is effective. Skye breaks her defiant glare and stares down at her faintly shaking hands. She says nothing but Clay senses what her silence means. It means he's right. He doesn't bask in his success but feels sad for her. He doesn't let his pity show because Skye doesn't give the impression that she'd appreciate it.

Her lip trembles inconspicuously and she fights to keep her emotions in a blank mask that could rival any museum's collection of statues. She speaks below a whisper, in a distraught manner, "Everything happened all at once. And I'm barely hanging in. I can't—"

The moment her face crumples, Clay springs out from his side of the booth and is at her side. He awkwardly reaches his arm around her almost shaking shoulders. He pauses, momentarily, and waits for her to yell at him to go away like Hannah did, but resolves to comfortingly squeeze her arm.

"It's not your fault. There are some things that are out of your control. You can't just h-hold it all in," he stumbles upon his words as he realizes this is almost exactly what he would have said to Hannah. He banishes the thought from his mind. This is Skye not Hannah. He may be trying to save her, like he wishes he could have done with Hannah, but Skye is a different person with entirely different circumstances.

He embraces Skye wholeheartedly with his two arms wrapped around her like a child's teddy bear. He feels her beating heart and the warmth rolling of her in waves as she responds and allows herself be held in his consoling, calming arms. They hardly notice the haughty waitress collecting their empty glasses with a quick sweep of her hand. Skye isn't aware of its beginning but one minute she's hugging Clay and the next she's sorrowfully crying into his shoulder. He's new to the whole concept of comforting another person but eventually realizes that all Skye needs is a hug. She's placed her troubles on her own shoulders for far too long and he needs to be a life raft for Skye in order to stop her from drowning in her distress.

* * *

_3. Long Conversations_

Skye clutches the phone closer to her ear as Clay reaches the peak of his story. Here she is, hunched under a blanket in a sort of makeshift tent, talking on the phone to Clay at one in the morning. She hasn't had such an overwhelming surge of happiness in a while and finds it refreshing.

Her exchange with Clay at Rosie's had lasted a good while. Every time she opened her mouth tears bubbled up again. In the end she'd told Clay all about her parents and the toll their divorce had taken on her. She hasn't yet divulged the reason behind their divorce; she's only revealed the aftermath of it.

At the present time they discussed memories; the awkward, comical recollections of their elementary school days where, looking back on it, everything was one big joke. Clay speaks of his panic when, in third grade, Jake Archer almost puked on him in their class's version of Jingle Bells during the Christmas concert. Skye retorts with her tale of the time she fell from the playground. Someone started the rumour that she had been pushed. It had been a great scandal at the elementary school until she came back the next day with her arm in a cast and an explanation to serve.

The subject at hand switches to Clay's life. Between the two, they've talked a lot about Skye's life but, nevertheless, Skye has a great deal to learn about the enigma that is Clay Jensen.

"I guess I'm not too sure about what I want to do after high school. Obviously I'm going to go to university but I don't have the slightest inkling as to what will happen after that. Up until recently I've always wanted to be a doctor but it doesn't hold the same appeal anymore," he explains, "At least I have more choice than some people cause of my grades. They're decent."

"Decent?" Skye scoffs. "They're impeccable."

He ducks his head sheepishly. "Well, yeah. What I want to do now is something that can actually help people. I mean, doctors are important but I want to do more than that."

Hours later, when the radiant sun pokes its head over the skyline, the phone call clicks to an end. And, for the first time in months, Skye's head hits the pillow with a smile emblazoned on and sleep waiting just around the corner for her. In fact, it seems their lengthy conversation has vacuumed the nightmares away as well.

* * *

_4. Dogs_

"Ding. Dong." The doorbell sounds momentarily after Skye presses it. She hears a clattering inside followed by the door swinging wide open. Clay appears in the doorway, letting out a heavy breath, and welcomes her in. She offers him a faint smile as she discards her shoes and follows him into the kitchen. Clay springs open the refrigerator door and grabs a carton of orange juice. "Do you want anything to drink?" he inquires. Skye gestures towards the carton in his hand, "I'll have some of that." As Clay plucks two cups from an overhead cabinet Skye leans against the counter and lets her gaze explore Clay's house. His household is suiting to his character. It's organized, welcoming, and overall kindly.

The backdoor opens and a homely women's face appears. "Clay, honey, I'm letting Lady in. Just keep an eye on her. Don't let her knock food down from the table again or you'll be cleaning it up."A lively, miniature Schnauzer bounds in and locks its sight on Skye. Its claws click on the smooth, wooden floor. At full stride it bounces off the back of Skye's legs and sprawls out on the floor. The dog shakes its tangled, black locks out of its eyes and squints at her with the energy of a thousand batteries in its lively eyes. Skye giggles and crouches to stroke Lady's head.

Clay's mom abruptly notices Skye. "Oh you must be Clay's friend. I'm Maria," she exclaims and extends her hand. Skye lets her rigid, blonde hair fall over her eyes out of habit and walks to the door. Clay's mom has a firm handshake in comparison to Skye's soft one. "Hi. I'm Skye." she says quietly.

"Oh I remember you! Weren't you in Clay's class years back?" she blurts out with a tinge of excitement. Skye moves her head up and down in a yes motion. Her antisocial nature has returned. Clay's mom replies anyways, "Well I'm afraid I must help my husband in the garden but it's been very nice meeting you, dear."

"You as well," Skye adds in as Clay's mom slides the door shut with a grin.

From outside Clay hears his mom call out, "Oh Robert, Clay has a girl over! In the house! Do you think she could be his girlfriend? He's never brought a girl home before." Clay's face flushes a violent shade red that travels up his neck and ears. He is absolutely certain that Skye heard but is grateful that she pretends not to take notice. He pours the contents of the juice into their cups with a glug and passes Skye one glass of the orange beverage. "Thanks."

Clay dashes into the living room, with Lady pursuing him like an Olympic sprinter, and tells her "No problem. Come over here. The couch is more comfortable." Skye tails him and the dog into the living room and lounges on the tan, suede cushions. Lady backs up in anticipation and dives up onto Skye with her small legs sprawling out. "Is she allowed up here?" Skye enquires, hoping it is no problem, and sets her glass on a nearby coffee table. Clay effortlessly shrugs his shoulders in a why not motion. Skye strokes Lady's fur tenderly and shifts one hand up to its ear and rubs it. A dumb expression overcomes Lady's face and Skye sighs, "I wish I still had a dog. I had one when I was younger but he's gone now." Her hands dwarf Lady's small paws as she moves them up and down. All of the sudden Lady scrambles out of her reach and flies into the kitchen. She paws at a low cabinet to the left of the sink and yips eagerly. "Well you can have her, " Clay jokes and sets out to where Lady's tail is furiously sweeping the floor. His hand fishes around in a box in the cabinet, he grasps a dog treat, throws it for Lady, and continues, "Seriously though you can count her as your dog whenever you come over."

Skye smiles down at the hyper ball of fur. "I'd like that."

* * *

_5. Skipping Rocks_

Clay drags the zipper up on his sweater. The crisp morning air chills his bare skin. Skye, dwarfed by her chunky, oversized sweater, doesn't appear to be bothered by the slight cold. Clay's house lies low on the horizon. In the twenty minutes they've hiked the sidewalk has faded into a worn down path of flattened grass. She can't discern where he's leading her; this area is unknown to her. Eventually the pathway wheedles out to a captivating pond. The mirror of water reflects the pair and the tall grass surrounding it in perfect detail. But why would they come to a pond? Clay bends down and heartily clutches a smooth rock. His fingers lose their tension as he bounces the rock across the water. It skims the surface five times before sinking. "Oh. So that's what we're here for."

Clay grins at her behind him. He teasingly says, "Think you can do better?"

Skye shakes her head. "I'm not challenging you on that one. I've never been able to skip a rock." His mouth gapes open in mock horror. Without another word he launches into a meticulous explanation of all the mechanics involved in rock skipping. Skye doesn't hear much of what he has to say; she's too busy internally laughing at how his noise crinkles up like a bunny's when he can't phrase his sentence properly and how he continually runs his hand through his sandy hair. Besides she understands the theory behind skipping a rock; it doesn't mean she's a skillful rock-skipper. His lips rapidly stop their speaking and he gives her a curt smile. "So you think you can do it?"

Skye slides her hands from the baggy sleeves of her sweater, scrutinizes the array of rocks on the ground, and selects a rather ordinary looking stone. Her thin, pale wrist flicks back like a slingshot ready to fire and, in a swift, controlled action, she swipes her hand in the direction of the pond. Nothing. The chunk of rock lands like an anchor in the ocean. "See? Hopeless."

"You're not hopeless. Watch how I do it." Clay fiddles with another rock and without out warning releases it to skip across the water. The impact of the rock creates an impression of expanding circles on the depthless pond. "Don't focus on how hard you throw it. Pay attention to the angle you're throwing it at." Skye dramatically raises her hand, holding a flat, gray stone, in the air. "Here we go." Clay lifts his eyebrows forbearingly. Her wrist snaps furtively as the grey object flies out of her hand into the water.

One. Two. The stone grazes the water timidly like a deer two times before becoming submerged. She smiles at her success even though it is only the smallest of wins. Clay is beaming alongside her and glances at her teasingly. "Well done. Didn't know you had it in you, Skye Miller. You said you could hardly skip a rock. It must be because of my excellent instructions," he finishes light-heartedly.

"Or I'm just awesome." Skye interrupts.

Clay chuckles, "That too."

* * *

_6. Laughter _

A few days and one picnic later, a threshold of frogs awaits Skye and Clay at the pond. "Umm...I guess skipping rocks is out of the question." Clay's bewildered expression is a good enough reply but he still adds, "Yeah. Looks like it is." As they incredulously inch in the direction of the water the frogs scamper away in long bounds. The tops of the tall grass ruffle as the stampeding army of frogs retreat. The sound of the frog fades to a hum and then quiet.

The silence holds for only a few minutes. "What was that?" Skye uncertainly enquires. She halts in her position at the edge of the pond. Clay hears the splashing noise too. He answers "I, uh, I'm not sure." His eyebrows crease in puzzlement. Without warning, a frog leaps up onto his knee. Clay stumbles back on his hands and the frog climbs farther onto his reclining form. The amphibian lounges on his chest. Its beady eyes bug out and its throat swells with each "ribbit, ribbit." Skye, unable to hold in her enjoyment anymore, lets out peals of laughter. Her tittering giggles startle the frog as it twists around to consider the disquieting surprise. Her laughter unexpectedly becomes hysterical as it jumps at her. Her feet stick in the mud and rocks for a second when the frog hurtles towards her but she ducks just in time. Clay, too, has to chuckle at this point. Of course they would be the ones to cross paths with a lunatic frog.

The rowdy frog observes them from a scattering of stones on the edge of the pond with unblinking eyes. Their laughter has progressed to empty wheezes of air and they can feel their bodies shaking with silent laughter like cell phones on vibrate. They are still chortling with amusement when the moment is long gone due to the fact that whenever they look at each other, and make eye contact, another round of giggles swells up. Skye manages to squeak out, "Did you see your face when—" and the hilarity hits her again. Their faces are changing colour form shortness of breath and Clay's decision to speak causes him to choke on the air he's trying to force out with his words. Skye lets herself gracelessly fall to the ground on her butt. To settle himself down (and breath), Clay has to turn away and flee to the depths of the high grass.

Eventually Skye composes herself. She hasn't laughed that hard for the longest time. In the past, she had no reason to even smile never mind laugh. Her worries and difficulties, in spite of Clay's overwhelming consideration, trouble her but the difference is that those troubles no longer consume her.

* * *

_7. Memories_

"Can we stop here?" Skye asks, gesturing towards a cemetery across the road. Clay nods, biting his lip suspiciously, and follows in her converse footsteps. His eyes are still adjusting to the light after departing the dark atmosphere of the movie theatre. The only sound heard is the mild wind blowing and knocking footsteps on the cement until the rusty fence is pried open. Skye knows her way all too well around the burial ground. She visits every weekend after all.

In their long phone calls over the past week the topic of her sister had come up once. Clay knows the main point of the story: Skye's sister had drowned the summer between eighth and ninth grade. It is an especially touchy subject. She isn't keen on talking about it so Clay hasn't pushed it. A person could only reveal so much of themselves over the course of a week. Clay casts Skye a nervous look, "Is there where your sister is, uh, buried?"

Skye's voice is pained as she speaks, "Yeah. She was only eight when she died. She would've been nine a month later." Clay unclasps his hands from his pockets and slides them over to Skye's. Her hands are icy, like the rare chilly weather, and Clay gives her a curt nod telling her to continue. He can't read her like a book but he has a good enough idea as to what she's thinking. Her mouth parts slightly and he sees the conflicting emotions being written across her parchment face.

She surprises him when she speaks. Her voice hangs at a high volume amidst the rustling leaves. "It happened at the end of July, just before ninth grade began. My sister, Clara, was going up to our cabin with my dad. I would've gone too but my mom was taking me to the orthodontist to get my braces tightened.

I tried to pry the braces off when I found out. I was so...angry. If I'd been there instead of getting my stupid teeth fixed then maybe I could've saved her. We always swam out to the buoys together. I told her to swim to them just for me. That was the last thing she ever did."

She stops and starts again with a shudder, "The funeral was a mess too. My mom completely flipped out on my dad. I swear I've never seen someone's face turn so red. He was like a tomato. They were screaming in each other's faces. Bring in the rest of my family too. My mom's side of the family turned on my dad and his did the same. They told my mom she should've been there. She protested saying she was with me, getting my braces tightened. They turned it into a big affair which centered on the fact that my teeth were straight anyways."

"Grief does that people," Clay cut in, "It makes them say things they normally wouldn't."

Skye smiled sadly and shook her head. "It wasn't like that. "By the time the funeral was over all I felt was guilt." She finishes with a note of finality, "I still do."

"You can't blame yourself Skye. You had no idea your sister was going to drown that day. At the funeral, well it seems like you parents were almost looking for an excuse to fight. Unfortunately, you were the topic they picked." Clay breaks off and takes a deep breath, "When you think of your sister don't associate her with all these bad memories. Remember what a great kid she was and maybe try and help your parents remember too."

Clay's speech ends with perfect timing as Skye tugs his hand to lead him through a row of gravestones. She kicks away leaves the colour of fire around the second to last gravestone. "Here she is." Skye murmurs and drags her spare hand down the smooth rock. Her fingers linger on an engraving at the bottom that Clay can't quite yet decipher. Her skinny fingers tremble. "I guess I got so caught up with everything happening that I forget to remember her. I'll try. I'll try to remember all my good times with her. She deserves it."

* * *

_ 8. Sunsets _

Weeks later, the day is near its end as Skye and Clay wander back from the pond (a meeting spot of theirs now) to Clay's house where Skye's father will pick her up. The dimmed sun shines on their retreating silhouettes as they amble along the sidewalk and onto Clay's driveway. They're rocking back and forth on the porch swing when Skye receives a text from her dad saying he'll pick her up in another hour. Alas, he is working overtime yet again.

"Sorry about that," Skye apologizes sullenly, "He doesn't really get the whole concept of leaving work on time and spending time with his daughter. There's always something else to do." Clay is used to her pessimism and his natural optimism is a daily reminder for Skye to let go of her negative feelings. "Well we've got this stunning sunset to entertain us while we wait!" Clay exclaims in an over-exaggerated tone and waves his arm across the horizon like he's a presenter at some sort of award show. Skye scoffs at his remark but, in truth, the sunset is exquisite. A dispersal of clouds stands out amongst the pastel skies like sprinkles atop a cupcake. Hints of blue the colour of faded denim hide beneath the brilliant oranges, pinks, and even purples that any painter would want on their palette. "What?" she quizzes as she catches Clay's eyes fixed on her. He pauses to briskly flick his eyes to the sky, "That," and resumes his stare down. Skye rolls her eyes in exasperation and tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Fine, fine! The sunset is beautiful."

Clay looks pleased with himself and barely above a whisper he mutters, "So are you."

"What?"

"Nothing." A spark of shock stays on his features as if he hadn't meant to say his previous comment aloud. Heat rises to his face like punch being poured into a cup. Skye surveys him with a peculiar expression on her face until she realizes her stare has lasted long past the social norm but she doesn't miss his trademark nervous habit of touching his hair when he's nervous or uneasy. "I'm not," she states, while keeping herself turned in the direction of the dazzling sky.

The next day, when the sunset reappeared, Skye is left to explore her thoughts. She sprawls out on her bed with the sunset in sight like a painting in place of the window. The sky truly was endless and beautiful. Her conversation with Clay from the previous day rattled her. She'd never considered herself attractive or even mildly beautiful. As she pulled the blankets over her she couldn't shake the thought that maybe the sky she had to love first is herself.

* * *

_9. Singing_

In the morning, Clay heads off to spend the day at Skye's house. The toes of his sneaker tap in a rather unharmonious, nervous manner, and he fidgets constantly as he lingers on Skye's front step. His worry for her has rocketed sky high to the point that his hours of sleep are gradually declining. He grasps that it's best that she got all of her troubles out in the open but what if she's more similar to Hannah than he thought? What if, after spilling all of her secrets like Hannah did on the tapes, she decides it's all too much? What happens then? It is much to his relief when the door swings ajar and Skye greets him with a pleasant, pearly grin. "Come in." Skye welcomes. Clay slips in the narrowly opened door and enters Skye's house.

He's been here once before, he thinks. For a birthday in second grade, maybe? Those were the days when the entire class was invited to your birthday party. His vague memory of her house nearly matches what he sees before him it is just as he remembered. The walls are all painted a shade of dark brown to match the glossy wood flooring. Artificial flowers are arranged upright in vases that only look expensive and books stringently stand in their respective ledges. Just past the couch, on the far side of the living room, a fireplace rests. By the look of the layer of dust atop it, it hasn't been lit for quite a time.

They retreat to the basement where mellow music is whistling from miniature speakers and sunlight seeps through the cracks of the blinds like lightning. "Well, I guess I better turn on the light," Skye announces as she uses the ample daylight on the wall to guide her hand to the light switch. A light above flickers on and unearths the cozy basement. Skye's hops onto the black, leather couch and slouches down. She beckons for Clay to join her but he is distracted as he spies boxes stacked up beside the couch. "Is that Candyland?" Clay yelps eagerly and dashes across the room. He unearths the game from the bottom of the pile and beams like a child who just saw Santa. "I haven't played this in forever! Can we play?" he enquires, his enthusiasm reaching high hopes. Skye moves alongside him. "Sure." The words are barely out of her mouth when she flicks her palm up silently telling Clay to hold on for just a second. Her hand reaches to an iPod on a nearby table. He can't quit make out what she is doing but knows immediately when the volume on the plugged in speakers is thundered up. The opening the song fill the air and on the first chord Clay realizes what song is playing. It is their eighth grade anthem, and the song that Clay and Skye danced to at a school dance otherwise known as the song Drops of Jupiter by Train. Of course. Clay remembers that dance as one of the most uncomfortable situations he has ever experienced. A few rowdy guys from his classes knew that he had a bit of crush on Skye at the time and herded Clay and Skye together when the song came on. Luckily, Skye instantaneously launches into a pitchy but joyful rendition of the song. Clay internally shrugs and belts out his own tune.

* * *

_10. Friends _

The faint light seeping from the laptop on Skye's outdated desk is only just enough to illuminate her scattering of essay outlines and other papers. She is working on a lengthy essay for English class that she has procrastinated up until now, the day before it is due. She's never taken the ridiculous topics they're assigned to write about seriously but the theme of her essay is causing her to contemplate all sorts of things. What is a true friend?

She smoothes her tousled hair back into a ponytail and positions her hands on the keys of the laptop. She skims through her introduction with a few hasty sentences about true friends and a brief overview of the qualities one should look for in a friend. Her next few paragraphs actually fly by quite quickly.

Skye hits the period button on the keyboard with more force than is needed but she doesn't care. The essay is done, save for the conclusion. However, her mind draws a blank so she opts to read through what is already written. So aside from the introduction she started with a snippet about true friends always having your back and continued on to explain exactly what having your back meant. The next gives details as to how friendship is not a one but two way street. The fourth explains the sort of honesty expected in a friendship. You're kind to your friends but when it counts you need to be able to tell them the honest truth and push them to deal with their troubles because friends truly care about each other. In the solitude of her room Skye hears her words for what they are and reaches an unanticipated conclusion which, in retrospect isn't actually a surprise. Clay is a true friend. She hasn't had a true friend before. She's had friends, in the past, but no one who always had her back.

She scrolls to the top of the essay with the mouse and heaves a sigh as she spots an abundance of red and green lying beneath her words. All she has to do is spell-check and find her other mistakes (because she knows they're there). Great. That's her favourite part.

* * *

_11. Stories _

The sparks from the fire leeched up into the pure black night sky and slowly dissipated. It was a long weekend and Skye's father was out of town for work; so Clay invited Skye to a bonfire at his uncle's cabin. Most of his relatives were a great deal older so they didn't they pay Skye too much attention besides an initial introduction and greeting. Anyways, anyone above the age of twenty-one (which is to say everyone but Clay and Skye) gathered back at the cabin where the booze was being taken out of the cooler. Skye turns her head so that the heat of the fire warms her right cheek instead of the left and glances at Clay. The flames dance upon him as if he was actually on fire and his hands are bunched together in the pouch of his hoodie.

A variety of Clay's relatives shuffled down from the cabin, sipping and chugging their beer. "Clay, my boy, why don't you grab yourself beer?" bellows a rather tall man with a beard and a hint of a beer belly. Clay shakes his head tenaciously, knowing his mom would have his head if he drank at a family gathering such as this. He shifts closer to Skye to make room for his abundance of relatives who are slowly streaming around the bonfire. "That's okay Uncle Gerald. I don't really want one," he replies but his uncle is already engrossed in a tale an approaching woman is spilling. "Christie! Don'tcha remember when you were yelling at people on the street after we left that bar" Gerald booms and scratches his beard. Christie places her hands on her hips and snidely says, "You're not one to tease about drunken antics, Gerald. I seem to remember how drunk you were the last time we came to the cabin. You said you wanted to put more wood in the fire so you started tossing wood in there and all of the sudden we see a lawn chair fly in there too." Skye snickered but is overpowered by Gerald guffawing with laughter. "Did I really? I don't remember that! It's bound to happen again though."

The entire night is composed of tales of drunken adventures, encounters with wildlife, and overall a comedy show of family memories. The darkness wears down, stars twinkling in the sky like diamonds. A yawn escapes Skye and she falls asleep instantaneously. In the morning she awake to find herself on a couch, covered by a blanket. Clay sleeps, his chest rising and falling with each breath, on a couch opposite hers. Her cheeks rise with a smile as she recalls the bonfire the night before. And she thought perhaps it wasn't specifically the bonfire that made life worth living but the stories to be shared that did.

* * *

_12. Family_

Skye knew she couldn't avoid talking to her father forever, especially not with Clay's nose in her business all the time. She deeply appreciated the way he was helping her through everything but there were a few, rare occasions when she wanted him to simply leave her alone. This was one of those times.

"You're going to have to talk to him eventually," Clay reasoned, "Why not make it today?" Skye sighed, exasperated, and spoke in an insistent tone, "Because it's not going to end well and I'd rather delay the inevitable. Face it, I'm a procrastinator."

"That is an excuse and you know it, Skye. For one day, just one day, don't procrastinate and confront the elephant in the room." Clay lets the silence drag on. "Fine," Skye huffed, tossing Clay his sweater, "You better go. He'll be home soon."

"Dad? Can I talk to you?" He tries to conceal his surprise but he isn't as skillful as his daughter at masking emotions. "I guess so. Sure. Come sit down.", "So what did you want to talk about?" "Well, uumm...it's been on my mind for a while now. And, I, uh..." she trails off leaving silence gaping like a cliff. Her father isn't completely oblivious though and, from when she was younger, remembers the silence can used to prod her. As he expected she gives in and blurts out the storm of thoughts that have plagued her mind for years. "I can't...I can't handle everything that's gone on since Clara, you know, she...died. I should have been swimming with her and not getting my freaking worthless braces tightened. And the funeral was all a mess too. You and mom were arguing and everyone got in the middle of it and all I could think about was Clara. Did you really mean it, dad? Did you and mom mean it when you guys said it was my fault that she died? Because I was getting my braces tightened?" The words break through like a torrent of water pushing through a dam and tears overflow onto Skye's fallen cheeks. Her dad feels the sting and guilt of his mistakes and the toll it has taken on his daughter. In the midst of it all he forgot that even though he lost Clara he still has one daughter left.

"I'm sorry Skye. I'm so, so sorry. It was never your fault. If it was anyone's it was mine. Your mom and I...well I don't know if you could tell at the time but we were headed towards a divorce anyways. We tried not to, fight in front of you kids. Clara's death, well, that turned out to be the deal breaker. You were never at fault Skye. Never." He says his last words pointedly and hugs Skye to his chest. He hasn't held his little girl in his arms for years. She cries into his arm like she did so many times when she was young and innocent. Now she was older and broken but his hugs were exactly as she remembered.

When all the tears are shed, Skye and her dad come into the kitchen and pillage through the cabinets. They find all the necessary ingredients for the meal they have in mind. Skye dusts the last bit of grated cheese atop their pizza and dons the oven mitts. She slips the pizza into the oven and whirls around to face her dad with a smile. He gives her one in return and, after a moment of thought, says, "If you want you could go see your mom this weekend. I'm not exactly on even ground with your mom but there's no reason why you shouldn't see her."

Skye feels the weight of his words. "Okay. I'd like that but first we have to eat this pizza."

_13. The Future_

Her lithe fingers leaf through loose papers and old notebooks with doodles on the cover. She slams numerous notebooks open and skims their surface quickly. Alas, she finds a blank notebook. The pen, grasped firmly in her hand, begins to scribble away on the page.

_Thirteen Reasons Why (Life is Worth Living)_

_Milkshakes__Hugs__Long conversations__Dogs__Skipping rocks__Laughter__Memories__Sunsets__Singing__Friends__Stories__Family__The future_

Barely a minute later, she pulls her head up from the crouched position it was in. Thirteen reasons is a good start. But there's a lot more to live for.

She considers the paper for a moment and then scratches out the thirteen with a furious twitch of her wrist. Hours later, when her hand has grown stiff and fatigue has blurred her mind, she is done. She has found hundreds upon hundreds of reasons to live. And she has Clay to thank for that.


End file.
